


Cuddly Forces of Darkness

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Big Bang Theory
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not really comic book characters, and they're not really living in a world where Good and Evil are polar opposites, but nonetheless, this could be the beginning of a beautiful nemesiship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuddly Forces of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muir_Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muir_Wolf/gifts).



> I don't own these characters either as characters or as real life people. I also have a very spotty knowledge of supers comic tropes, so if it's awful, I apologise in advance. The title is from an insanely adorable song by Seanan McGuire.

Sheldon hasn’t felt this kind of adrenaline in years; truth be told, he’s not sure if he’s ever felt it at all. He’s only dimly aware of the other three struggling to keep pace with him as his sneakers hit the road with steady swift thuds. The baying mob are a lot easier to outrun than the dog that was the last thing to chase him, not that he’d ever dare voice stereotypes about the weight of an average geek to a large group of them who are already out for his blood. Where exactly he’s running to, he’s not sure, but that’s not the point.

The point is, this time he’s _won_.

Sheldon is still thinking this as someone collides with him from behind and brings him crashing to the pavement, knocking the wind out of him and setting a galaxy whirling behind his eyes. The last thing he hears is a voice, _that_ voice, that _damnable_ voice, yelling out, “I’ve got him!”

* * *

This is unacceptable.

Sheldon is in Wil Wheaton’s house, which is not a place he would ever choose to be unless he had a can of gasoline and a Molotov cocktail (and a safe distance from which to throw the latter). He’s lying on a couch and it isn’t his couch and therefore lacks his spot, but this is a minor inconvenience compared to the fact that he’s _in_ Wil Wheaton’s _house_.

What’s worse is that, as reality resolves into being around him, he realizes he’s in fact lying with his head resting on Wheaton’s denim-clad leg. To add insult to injury, he can feel the soothing stroke of fingers through his hair, and there’s only one person to whom those fingers can belong.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. Things are bad enough as it is.

“I know you’re awake.”

There is little sense in protesting the obvious. Sheldon eases his eyes open and glares up at the goateed face above him. “What on earth is this all about, Wheaton?”

The fingers in his hair don’t let up as a not terribly reassuring smile is directed at him. “I just thought we could talk about this grudge you seem to have against me one on one, away from the others. I know you weren’t happy about losing the Warlords tournament or the bowling match, but really, did you have to take it out on a whole theater full of people?” His voice is charmingly regretful, as though he’s reprimanding a little boy for smacking his sister in the arm with a telescope when she told him the stars in the sky were too far away to see.

“I was taking a stance against people in general who think they’re entitled to cut in line,” Sheldon says. “ _Some_ people need to learn basic manners, instead of acting as though the world owes them something because of who they are.” He stares defiantly upward and is gratified by the brief flash of self-reproach in Wheaton’s eyes.

But then it’s gone, replaced by a different look, and this look Sheldon recognizes, although it hasn’t been directed his way in a long time. There is a special kind of hunger in it.

“Don’t you ever feel that the world owes you anything, Sheldon?” Wheaton’s fingers are still smoothing his hair back from his forehead and Sheldon simultaneously wants to smack his hand away and roll his head a little so Wheaton can get the spot behind his ear.

It’s lucky Wheaton doesn’t know about his penchant for belly rubs.

“No,” he says, working to keep his breathing under control, closing his eyes.

“Liar.” He can hear the smile in Wheaton’s voice, and feels the other man’s fingers slip into the slightly longer hair just behind his ear, rubbing slow circles there. “You’ve one of the most brilliant minds in the world, and yet you’re stuck working at a university where if you want access to the equipment you need you have to go on a waiting list. You can’t tell me that you don’t think the world owes you more than that.”

“And I suppose you think you can fix that.”

He feels Wheaton shrug. “I have money. I can get you whatever you need.”

Sheldon can see Leslie on the inside of his eyelids.

* * *

 _She pulled her lab coat closed over her bare body, rolled her eyes at him, lightly berated him for not teaming up with her – between the two of them, she said, they could get whatever they needed out of the university. He asserted that women had no place in science and saw her face suddenly go cold, right before she seriously laid into him._

 _“You chauvinistic idiots are all alike. You’re too proud to lower yourself to teamwork and you’re too stupid to realize that you’re only holding yourself back that way. I don’t know how dumbasses like you even get to college without being drowned by constant swirlies.”_

 _He’d tried to rebut her tirade – he was going to start by suggesting that slinking into his office and exposing her body hadn’t been quite the right approach to suggest they work together, especially if she’d sought to retain any measure of dignity – but Leslie had been adamant, and loud, and reduced him to tears by the end of it. She’d been the voice of every bully he’d ever run from, or hidden from, or, yes, been swirlied by. She’d been the voice of every teacher who’d chided him for inattention when he’d merely outpaced his inferiors and set to his own work._

 _Worst of all, she had been his mother, incapable of understanding her brilliant son, reducing his hard-earned intelligence to a gift from her invisible sky-being._

* * *

“No,” Sheldon repeats, trying to hide the fact that his breathing is beginning to quicken.

Wheaton lets out a frustrated little hiss and traces one finger over the line of Sheldon’s jaw, over the curve of his lower lip. Sheldon’s lips part a little, although whether he means to kiss or bite, he’s not sure. Wheaton touches the fingertip to the center of his own lips and then to Sheldon’s again.

“This isn’t about what _I_ want,” Sheldon says, and he can see the truth in Wheaton’s eyes. “I thought that you supervillain types were meant to be aloof, heartless creatures. Clearly you’re the kind who should be wearing skintight spandex, you... _whore_.”

Wheaton’s laugh sounds surprised. “I never expected to hear _you_ use the word ‘whore’. Somehow I didn’t think it was in your vocabulary.”

Sheldon gives him a disgusted look and sits up. “I’m a _genius_. My vocabulary is therefore quite extensive, and happens to cover the gutter as well as the stars.”

“Have you ever been at a loss for words?”

“No,” Sheldon says flatly.

Wheaton smiles. “Liar,” he whispers again, one finger tracing a line up Sheldon’s thigh. Sheldon watches it, unable to tear his eyes away. His hands tremble at his sides. Wheaton’s watching him from beneath lowered eyelashes, silently daring him to stop this in its tracks.

Sheldon doesn’t.

He says: “Is that the best you have?”

Wheaton slips to the floor, goes to his knees in front of Sheldon, and hesitates with his hands on Sheldon’s thighs. “I thought you were asexual – that you thought sex was pointless.”

“It is,” Sheldon says. “But power isn’t.” He hooks one ankle lazily behind Wheaton’s back. “If you think you’re going to win me over with a few words and an offer of money, you need to think again.”

“And _you_ called _me_ a whore.”

“I’m not the one on his knees,” Sheldon retorts, and Wheaton makes a despairing noise in the back of his throat, his hands moving to pull Sheldon’s pants open. Despite his protestation at the pejorative his hands are eager, and his mouth as it slips down over Sheldon’s cock is willing. More than willing – he sucks and licks with a kind of feverish neediness, born out of experience and expectation.

Sheldon’s so relieved not to be looking him in the face and trying to keep his anger leashed that it takes a minute or so for his brain to catch up to the notion that this feels good. More than just good, in fact. Wheaton’s lips pull at him rhythmically and it makes him wonder who else Wheaton has approached this way, promising money or sex to get what he wants? Surely he can’t be the only one; not all minds can be swayed simply by word-games.

Immersed in thought as he is, his body nonetheless responds with a will to Wheaton’s ministrations. Wheaton makes a choked sound at one point and Sheldon almost apologizes before he sees the gleam in the other man’s eyes, peering up at him. A test, then. Sheldon spreads his thighs a little wider and lifts his hips, pushing deeper into Wheaton’s mouth, and feels the low rumble of laughter.

Either it doesn’t occur to Wheaton to try teasing him or he simply can’t be bothered, because Sheldon doesn’t have to resort to pleading or even simply asking for release. In fact, he can feel his orgasm building quickly; he wards it off temporarily by mentally reciting the periodic table backward.

He doesn’t say anything when he’s about to come; he just cups Wheaton’s cheek with one hand by way of warning. Wheaton defiantly takes him deep, and Sheldon’s hand moves to the side of his neck to feel the muscles there work as Wheaton swallows, his thumb in the hollow of Wheaton’s throat.

Sheldon has to struggle to maintain his composure as Wheaton gets back up, licking his lips, and flops down into his former position on the couch. He straightens his pants up, aware of Wheaton’s expectant eyes on him.

“I suppose you’re going to pretend that was bad,” Wheaton finally says.

“It’s not very scientific to come to a conclusion based upon a single sample.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Bedroom, Wheaton.”

“Wh—oh, all right, Sheldon.”

“That’s _Doctor Cooper_ to you.” So as not to seem like a sore winner, Sheldon amends this to, “For now.”

* * *

By the time they’ve reached a definitive conclusion, both of them have forgotten what the hypothesis was. Sheldon pleasantly aches all over. Wheaton has an arm around his shoulders.

“I don’t usually go in for snuggling, but I thought you’d like it.”

“I don’t.”

“I know.” Wheaton tightens his arm and Sheldon turns his head enough to just miss Wheaton’s fingers with his teeth. “You really _are_ a mad scientist.”

“I’m not going to be _your_ mad scientist, Wheaton.”

There’s a bitter moment of silence from beside him. “But... you’d be free of the constraints of your job. You’d only have to do one or two things for me. The rest of your time would be your own.”

“What exactly are you trying to accomplish? You have no idea what you’re asking for. I suppose you’re expecting freeze-rays and laser guns and cloning tanks. Don’t you think that if we could do those things, they’d already exist?”

“I...”

“You can’t make them exist just by being manipulative.”

Wheaton circles the palm of his other hand around Sheldon’s navel. “You didn’t mind being manipulated earlier.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. Besides, if the world worked that way, we’d all be drawn in four colors and have sound effect bubbles over our heads.”

“Don’t you ever think about a world where everything you say gets done?” Wheaton persists. “With a brain like yours, you can’t be a good guy. You have to be either crazy or mad.”

Sheldon closes his eyes. He thinks of Cheeseburger Night and Halo Night, of whiteboards and markers, of a carefully scheduled clothing rotation and of the way other people alter their lives to fit around his. He’s pretty sure he already lives in the world Wheaton’s describing. At the same time he knows he can’t explain to Wheaton how having all the small things done to perfection wins out over running the entire world.

When he opens his eyes again there’s a gentle smile on his face, something hardly anyone ever sees. “I already have that world.”

“You don’t. You _can’t_. You—oh.” Wheaton’s protestations are cut off as Sheldon touches his mouth to the side of Wheaton’s neck and then bites lightly.

In the too-short time that follows, Sheldon proves that what he wants and doesn’t have, he can get, but not without a spirited struggle on Wheaton’s part.

There’s one moment in there when they’re fighting for dominance on a physical level instead of with words that their eyes meet and lock and Sheldon knows that, no matter how much time Wheaton spends on his knees, he will always have that psychological edge.

But then, as he pushes with one foot and levers Wheaton off him, covers Wheaton’s body with his and bites the nape of the other man’s neck, Sheldon’s got his own mental edge plus a newfound knack for applying physics to sex.

Not to mention that Wheaton is not very good at fighting back, and even Sheldon can tell that it’s on purpose.

* * *

When Sheldon gets out of the shower, his clothes are missing. In their place is a Wonder Woman costume and a note.

 _Enjoy your bus ride home._

 _\- W._

 _P.S. Who’s the whore now?_

Sheldon sighs and puts the costume on; as if it's mere _clothing_ that's required to make the appellation fit. He then finds Wheaton’s phone number – the arrogant bastard keeps a stack of headshots near the front door, as though his pizza delivery boy might be the next Joss Whedon or something – and sends him the photo that he snapped hours ago; Wheaton on his knees, mouth working eagerly between Sheldon’s thighs. He can already imagine the exact way Wheaton’s cheeks will color when he sees it.

With it, a message.

 _It’s still you_.

After all, he reflects as he walks to the bus stop (already shuddering at the thought of traveling sans bus pants) whether hero or villain, winning or losing, it’s always much more fun with a worthy opponent.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [World Domination's a Solitary Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/258271) by [Lauren (notalwaysweak)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren)




End file.
